Five Questions
by Rebound SM
Summary: Ichabod learns to use a cell phone and is too independent for his own good. This was started before we were introduced to Corbin's cabin when I thought that Ichabod might end up camping out in the archive - hence, that's where he's moving.
1. Chapter 1

Ichabod learns to use a cell phone and is too independent for his own good. This was started before we were introduced to Corbin's cabin when I thought that Ichabod might end up camping out in the archive - hence, that's where he's moving. I tweaked it in the end to get him into the cabin though! Started as drabble to include a few things I thought would be fun but then I decided that I had to have some sort of conclusion.

No beta since I don't know how to find someone!

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Abbie hadn't thought too much about it when Ichabod had told her that he no longer needed her to pick him up at the motel every morning. She knew that she would feel awkward relying on someone for a ride every morning and Ichabod was an independent fellow. She could imagine that being ferried to and fro might start to wear on him after a while.

"Now that your captain has seen fit to provide us both with keys to this marvelous facility, I shall simply meet you here when necessary. You will no longer be required to collect me from the inn before we begin our day."

Abbie had protested - "Crane, it's like two miles away from here. Do you really want to walk that far every morning before we even get started for the day?"

"Lieutenant, when horses were in short supply I routinely marched upwards of 20 miles a day while carrying a full load of supplies. I am perfectly capable of managing to transport my unladen self two miles without any detriment to my person." He drew himself up to his fullest height, which was considerable, especially when standing near Abbie. "I think I can manage.".

Twenty miles a day? No wonder he was such a skinny fellow.

After considering all the things that could possibly go wrong, Abbie had agreed to begin meeting him at the archives. She had a momentary thought that she could get him a bike - but after having a rather enthusiastic internal laugh she dismissed the thought. She really didn't think she could handle the sight of him pedaling away, his coat billowing out behind him like some crazy male Wicked Witch of the West. He was already slightly ridiculous looking. She couldn't subject him to that. Seeing him on a ten speed would be positively more than she could handle.

While she had agreed to let Ichabod find his own way to the archives in the mornings, she had insisted on providing him with some sort of communication. That led to the purchase of the cellular phone that she gave him later that week - before she had agreed to stop picking him up at the motel. He had insisted that it was not necessary, but Abbie had been unwilling to let Ichabod loose on the town of Sleepy Hollow without being able to get in touch with him.

She drew the slim device out of her pocket and handed it to Ichabod. He took it reluctantly.

She had to smile at the ridiculous tableau now presented to her. Here stood Ichabod Crane - revolutionary war soldier and reluctant time traveler - carefully cradling a smartphone in his hand, his long fingers awkwardly touching the thing as little as possible. He held it how most people would hold a dirty sponge or a used tissue. She sighed. This was going to be loads of fun.

With some forethought, Abbie had already downloaded an app designed for children or the elderly - and perhaps Crane counted as the elderly - that deactivated the vast majority of the phone's functions. No need to tell him this, of course.

Ichabod felt supremely apprehensive holding this small device. He had up to this point studiously avoided touching anything that he didn't understand. The gun he could manage, also the flashlight - which he was readily willing to admit was superior to a lantern. Nearly everything else he avoided. He usually stood slightly apart from things with his hands clasped behind his back, happy to allow Abbie to use and manipulate the modern instruments that they encountered on a daily basis.

He believed that the safest way to not "blow his cover," as Abbie had so eloquently put it, was to avoid entirely any situations that might expose him as ignorant of basic modern technology. He spent a great deal of time trying to catalog Abbie's reactions to things that surprised him. It was sometimes difficult to tell the difference between witchcraft and automation. If she was unconcerned by something he tried to adopt the same demeanor. It had seemed to be working thus far.

Disdain had dripped from his words when he had last referred to Abbie's smartphone. He hadn't understood what a "compass app" was so he had quickly tried to illustrate his own worth. He drew on all the tracking knowledge he had gained fox hunting and scouting with the American Indians simply so that she would stop chattering on about the damned smartphone. It had worked - they had found Roanoke - and he had defeated the smartphone. Yet now he held one of the devices in his own hands.

The last time that Ichabod had started pushing buttons at random was while sitting in Abbie's car and trying to get out. It had ended well, with Ichabod having a lovely conversation with a woman named Yolanda, but when the disembodied voice had first spoken to him from the car he had practically marched into the asylum and committed himself. Or he would have, had he been able to get out of the damned infernal car, which had lead to all the button pushing in the first place..

Ichabod had no desire to draw unnecessary attention to his lapses in modern knowledge, and he was constantly attempting to avoid embarrassment. And, he thought, staring at this small contraption, this was sure to make him look both foolish and inept.

Abbie intended to make this as simple as possible. She activated only three functions - the alarm clock function, as well as texting and voice to only one number - hers. Abbie had weighed her options with the phone functions. A screen lock would complicate things but avoid any unintentional butt dialing. And as much as Abbie hoped to never have to explain the phrase butt dialing to Crane and his delicate sensibilities, she didn't think a screen lock would be a good idea.


	2. Chapter 2

And as much as Abbie hoped to never have to explain the phrase butt dialing to Crane and his delicate sensibilities, she didn't think a screen lock would be a good idea.

"Okay, lets get this thing figured out!" She said cheerfully, trying to dispel the mournful expression on Ichabod's face. "You only need to do three things. First thing is to call me - so touch that button on the side to wake the phone up."

Ichabod blinked slowly, allowing his eyes to remain shut a few seconds longer than completely necessary. Did Abbie have any idea how much of that sentence alone he had to work to figure out? Some words were completely foreign to him, and even the ones that he understood were used with a completely different meaning.

After some inference and a little bit of logical guessing, Ichabod seemed to do the correct thing as the front of the device burst into bright colors. Almost against his will Ichabod smiled. He thought that the phone was quite nice looking but he wasn't willing to let Abbie know that.

Looking at the screen he saw a square design with words written underneath it. "Call Abbie," it said. Ichabod remembered seeing other people touching these sorts of devices with their fingertips so he did the same. Upon touching that small square the device sprang to life. "Dialling," it said, and a portrait of Abbie appeared on the screen.

"Awesome, Crane! You're a natural!" Abbie exclaimed. She was determined to make this a positive experience. Crane was so damned stubborn. If he thought for one minute that she was laughing at him she knew that he would refuse to use the thing entirely.

Ichabod's slightly upturned mouth spread into a definite smile. Perhaps he could manage this after all. At that moment, Abbie's corresponding device began to vibrate and chime loudly. She touched a button and the ringing stopped.

"Okay, that's how you call me - just hit the button on the side and the choose 'Call Abbie.' Once I answer, put the phone up to your ear like this" - she demonstrated, but Ichabod had seen plenty of people in that position since waking up so it looked at least somewhat familiar - "and we can talk." Ichabod tentatively put the phone to his ear as Abbie walked to the other side of the room.

"Can you hear me?" Ichabod started. Her voice was not coming from her location on the other side of the room, rather it was sounding out clearly from the device he was holding up to his head. "Yes," he said with hesitation. "I can hear you." He tried to keep his tone low, as he has heard Abbie and others speak on this sort of device. This was different from the "walkie" that she also sometimes spoke into. They clearly served different functions but that's where Ichabod began to tire of thinking about it.

"Great!" Abbie said as she approached him once more. "Hit the red button that says "end call."

He did as instructed and Abbie's image disappeared from the phone. Next to the "Call Abbie" symbol was a similar one marked "Text Abbie." Abbie gestured to that next.

"This is one I think you'll like better. It's like sending a letter, but it arrives instantly."

Abbie would later regret describing it as a letter and wishing she had used some other word that implied that the message should be brief. She didn't realize at that moment that Ichabod would later send her a 15-page long text that it had taken him over an hour to peck out on the keyboard, the salient point of which could have been carried using approximately 10 words. But brevity was not Ichabod's strong suit, and the sheer number of words used to open and close a simple thought for sake of politeness and civility back in his era was exhausting to her.

But Abbie didn't know that yet, so she was mostly just impressed that Ichabod could figure out the keyboard. She thought that she heard him mutter something about a "tiny mechanical printing press" but she chose to ignore it. Ichabod had asked her about the details of a great number of technologies, but she didn't know how to answer him for the most part.

Electricity, for example. She'd gone through the basics of it in school - Ohms law and all - but explaining how electricity worked to a 250 year old man was well beyond her abilities. How text messaging and cell signals worked might as well be witchcraft, too, for all she knew about them. The amount of technology she used without having any idea how it worked was astounding, but she never really considered it until she had been faced with Ichabod's questions.

Teaching him how to use an alarm clock went as well as could be expected, too. He seemed quite interested in the ability to be awoken at any time he desired. "Better than roosters, I suppose," she thought to herself.

"This is much better than a rooster!" Ichabod exclaimed, making Abbie giggle to herself. She covered it with a cough. She had thought that saying that would have offended him - but apparently not.

Answering incoming calls from her was the last step, and considering all that he had already accomplished, answering a phone call was a piece of cake.

Now Abbie worried less about losing track of Ichabod. He could call her, and if worst came to worst, whatever kind soul who found him somewhere would be able to use the cell phone. She didn't mind - although she also didn't tell him about it, nor did she want to try to explain communications satellites to him - that she would also be able to keep track of him using the GPS functionality of the phone. He had a tendency to wander.

With Ichabod capable - at least somewhat - of managing a phone, Abbie worried less about him walking to and from the motel. As the weeks passed she became more comfortable with the arrangement. Captain Irving had told her that the authorization had come through for Ichabod to be given a stipend, and she was impressed with his growing independence.


	3. Chapter 3

Captain Irving had told her that the authorization had come through for Ichabod to be given a stipend, and she was impressed with his growing independence.

So she was confused one afternoon a few weeks later when she found a strange bundle hidden behind a bookcase in the farthest corner of the room. It included some rolled up blankets, a store of food in a burlap sack, a small cloth sack with a bar of soap, a toothbrush and toothpaste that she remembered buying him before his second night in the motel, a towering stack of library books, and a cardboard box of what Abbie could swear were wedding invitations. What was all this? Was he keeping his food here for some reason? She couldn't even begin to conceive of any reason for the wedding invitations.

Before she could come up with any more guesses as to why, Ichabod returned to the archives with two paper cups of coffee.

"Miss Wendy seemed intent on regaling me with the details of her latest 'blind date' and I found it difficult to extricate myself without giving her offense. I do apologize for the delay in returning with your beverage."

Abbie stayed where she was on the far side of the room. "Crane, can you some over here for a sec and tell me what this is?"

Ichabod walked toward her and, upon seeing to what she was referring, grimaced. He let out a quiet "ahh…" and looked as if he would rather be doing anything else other than standing there and starting to have this discussion. Indeed, Ichabod would rather fight a half dozen minions than have this conversation with Abbie.

With a sigh, Ichabod spoke. "That, lieutenant, is a bedroll and a haversack."

"And this?" She gestured toward the cardboard box.

"Those are letters inviting a number of people to the wedding of a Miss Johnson to a Mr Franklin. I have secured employment addressing them. Apparently, proper penmanship is a marketable skill in this day." He kept talking but Abbie was rendered completely speechless. "My other currently marketable skills seem to be limited to digging ditches and mucking stables and I find this vastly more palatable an occupation."

Abbie finally found words, but there was a definite pain beginning to take shape behind her eyeballs. "But why are you doing it at all? Captain Irving said that the police department was paying you."

"Ah. Well, I seem to be lacking the requisite numbers and accounts, so Miss Wendy keeps giving me these things. I believe them to be made of 'plastic.'" He passed her a stack of small cards that he drew from one of his vast pockets. "But I required true currency, so I procured employment at a local stationary shop addressing invitations. The care that women take in planning their weddings has changed little since my time."

Abbie looked down at the stack of pre-paid VISA cards in her hands. It made perfect sense, actually, but that wasn't helping her headache any. The department couldn't direct deposit money or write him a check, and a government agency wasn't going to hand over wads of cash. Prepaid VISA cards were a pretty good option - assuming, of course, that the person to whom you were giving them knew what the hell they were.

She sighed. The prick of the headache forming behind her eyes began spreading over her entire frontal lobe. "And the bedroll?"

"Well, the innkeeper informed me that the police department had ceased paying for my room at the inn, and my current economies wouldn't support paying so much for lodgings, so I have been staying here."

"Here as in this room?"

"Not always. When the weather is fine I quite enjoy sleeping out there." He indicated a window that led out to a nearly completely inaccessible courtyard designed to provide natural light to the rooms in the inner part of the building. There were only windows that led out to it and the ground appeared to be covered in mosses and some sort of ground covering foliage.

"It's quiet and I enjoy seeing the stars."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Headache? Still present and accounted for and spreading rapidly. As Ichabod might say, this conversation was continuing to bear gifts.

"And the food?"

"There is a charming 'farmer's market' a few miles from here that opens quite early in the morning. The wares there are quite delicious. Much better than rations. I found bread and sausage and apples and jam… And the most wonderful spread called pea-nut-butter." He pronounced every syllable fully. "Quite extraordinary."

Abbie closed her eyes for a few long seconds. She took back every positive thought that he had ever had with respect to his growing independence. It was driving her crazy right now. Who on earth wouldn't have mentioned that he had been evicted from the motel, or that he couldn't figure out how to get money from the plastic cards he had been given. Only Ichabod Crane could be so proud and so belligerent and so unwilling to ask a few simple clarifying questions. And suddenly she had another thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Only Ichabod Crane could be so proud and so belligerent and so unwilling to ask a few simple clarifying questions. And suddenly she had another thought.

"What about the bathroom, Crane? You're not…" She trailed off, glancing around for a chamber pot hidden away somewhere.

Now Ichabod became indignant. "Really, Miss Mills, what do you take me for? I have grown quite fond of your modern indoor facilities and there is a full suite of conveniences just one stairwell away from here. And there is even another hot air gun attached to the wall. It's quite satisfactory for my needs and allows me to wash my garments at night."

Between the 'washing of his garments' and the addressing of the wedding invitations Abbie wondered when he actually slept. She was out of the easy questions but she didn't really know what to say. She considered her options.

Ichabod had fallen silent. He was certainly observant enough to notice that there was something wrong with Abbie. She was standing there, breathing deeply, and pinching the bridge of her nose. He could tell that she was upset with his behavior.

"Miss Mills, I admit that I am surprised by your consternation. My accommodations are hardly on the level of importance as our work against the forces of evil during these years of Tribulation. I had no desire to bother you with something so mundane as my living situation. I am capable of managing my own affairs without taking up your time."

Still Abbie was silent.

"I was able to make my own arrangements, therefore I did so…" He trailed off as he watched Abbie turn away from him and walk slowly toward a large wooden table and sit down. He followed her reluctantly and after standing near the table awkwardly for a few long moments, he finally took a seat. They sat there in silence while Abbie gathered her thoughts. Ichabod, ever the gentleman, patiently waited.

She had grown close to Ichabod as a partner and a friend. She trusted him with her life - but she kind of wanted to strangle him right now.

Abbie knew that the sheer volume of things that Ichabod didn't understand must be enormous - she could understand that he didn't want to ask a million questions - but she really felt like he needed to man up and ask the important questions. The only problem was how to get him to understand that there were some things about which he should really be asking for clarification.

"Okay, Crane, I understand that you don't want to bother people with your questions. I understand that you don't want people to think you're," she searched for the right word, "not clever." He finally looked toward her and his gaze softened. He had been considered a smart man in his time. It was difficult for him to know that people now thought he was an addle pated fool. He had never said as much to Abbie, but she seemed to understand.

"So you can go ahead as you have been when we're around other people. It's working out pretty well. People think you're kind of weird - okay, somewhat significantly weird - but they certainly don't think you're 250 years old. And it's been a while since anyone as suggested to me that you begin in an asylum, so that's a definite improvement."

The corners of Ichabod's mouth turned up slightly into a smile at the fact that no one - at least currently - wanted to commit him to the madhouse.

"But you don't have to put on that act when we're alone together, okay? At this point there is really nothing that we have to hide from each other, right? So if you don't know what I'm talking about, or if you didn't understand something that happened during the day, please ask me about it before you start sleeping outside or find a secret job. Deal?"

Ichabod was still smiling a little bit, which Abbie took as a good sign. "Deal," he said, nodding his head.

Abbie let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. "Great! So I have a proposal. Every night after we're done doing whatever ghastly thing we've had to do that day - horseman beheading, witch burning, demon destroying - you need to ask me at least five questions. Is that going to work for you?"

"Yes, Miss Mills, I find that arrangement perfectly acceptable." Ichabod knew he had been acting the fool. He was just so fatigued by his constant state of ignorance. When Wendy, with a happy smile on her face, had handed him those cards his heart had sunk.

"Here you go, Mr. Crane - we were finally able to get everything sorted out. Just come back every week and I'll be able to give you another card and you'll be all set." Wendy had said with a smile.

Ichabod had given Wendy a beaming smile and thanked her profusely. He had then immediately hidden the strange little card away in his deepest pocket and tried to pretend that it didn't exist. It was his unwillingness to ask about that damned card that had led to all this. He realized now that he had been foolish. But once he made the first choice to ignore the cards he had been trapped in his subterfuge.

"As far as living in the archives, though, Crane, why don't we see if we can move you out into Corbin's cabin? It's a little bit farther out of town, but if you're okay with me driving you around again I'm sure that we could make that work. And it's quiet out there in the woods, too. You won't have to listen to car engines all night long."

Ichabod was nodding more enthusiastically as Abbie spoke. It would probably be a good idea to get out of the archives at least some of the time. One could only do so much research in a day.

"It'll be perfect for you and more private. And I really don't want Captain Irving to show up here and find you sacked out on the floor, or taking a shower. There are some discussions that I really don't want to have with that man, and that's one of them."

Abbie was actually pretty thrilled with how this conversation had gone. She figured that it could have been a heck of a lot more uncomfortable for both of them. And she really did think that the could make it work with Corbin's cabin - that might work out perfectly. And there was a washer and dryer, which Abbie assumed would work better for clothing than a hair dryer.


	5. Chapter 5

And there was a washer and dryer, which Abbie assumed would work better for clothing than a hair dryer.

"Thank you, Miss Mills, for your perceptive and sympathetic understanding of my situation. I admit that I have been unwilling to ask for assistance. I am not used to being so very hapless in my daily life. I will make every attempt to not let my pride outweigh my common sense."

Abbie understood how difficult it must have been for him to say that, so she simply nodded once and changed the subject.

"I am pretty impressed that you managed to get yourself a library card, though. I would have thought that you'd need some sort of identification to make that happen."

"Yes, well, the mistress of the borrowing library was at first reluctant, but she seemed to soften after we spoke. I also didn't have the required card of credit, but she seemed willing to allow me access to the books."

The stack of books hidden away in the corner was pretty impressive. He seemed to be reading a number of them simultaneously; the top three had slips of paper marking his place. She moved over to read the names on the spines of the books. The three currently being read were "Volume III: Great inventions of the 1800's," "A History of America: 1800-1899," and "The Founding Fathers." The books underneath were in a similar vein.

"By the time you finish all these books you're going to know more about my history than I do, Crane! Assuming that we get some time to read things that aren't case files about spells and demons and things that go bump in the night."

Abbie was looking through the books toward the bottom of the stack. All the books were from the depths of the non-fiction side of the library. All except one small paperback toward the bottom of the pile. Abbie fished it out.

"Hey, Crane, did you pick this book out?"

"In fact no, the young lady who helped me out of the library suggested it and fetched it for me. She said that she thought that I would enjoy it, but I have yet to find the time to begin to read it."

Abbie raised an eyebrow as she looked at the front of the book. The cover was nondescript, but the title really said it all. "50 Shades of Grey." She sighed. As she held the book loosely a slip of paper fell out from between the pages. Abbie stooped and picked it up, glancing at the writing on it. She couldn't help but smile. Ichabod Crane - the most unwitting ladies man in history.

"Did you see this note from Brandi?"

"Brandy? Is that a name?"

"Yes. Brandi. With an 'i' dotted with a heart."

"Surely you jest, what kind of name is that, and who would do that?"

"Don't worry about it, Crane."

Abbie tucked the book into the large pocket on the inside of her jacket. She'd drop this back at the library later. She really didn't think that Ichabod was ready for this sort of "literature." He would be safer with his history books.

As long as the plot details for "50 Shades of Grey" didn't end up being one of his five questions she'd be fine. Oh dear god she hoped that he would never ask her about that book.

But she was kind of wondering what his five questions to be. As strange as it seemed, she was actually really looking forward to them.


End file.
